


Brumation Season

by DetectiveRoboRyan



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: (I mean except the name but), Call a Morgan a Marcus, Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff, Headcanon-heavy, Look elsewhere for your angst, Mentions of past sadness but nop not anymore, Sad times? Nope not here, Sickfic, So sweet you'll need a dentist, This all came from 'what if Manaketes hibernated during the winter', literally this is all fluff, theyre happy let them be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-05 11:59:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5374469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DetectiveRoboRyan/pseuds/DetectiveRoboRyan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe there was some logical reason the winter was so awful for Nah, but whatever it was, she was just cranky enough to call it a load of bullshit and leave it at that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brumation Season

**Author's Note:**

> Alright TECHNICALLY this is post End Days but thats not too important i mean everyone knew a happy ending was coming anyway so

The worst part about being half-Manakete, Nah was sure, was brumation season.  
  
It wasn't even an exaggeration. She always knew it was coming by a dull ache in her bones and a sense of heaviness when she tried to move, a confirmation that her sense of dread she got when the leaves began to change was not unfounded. (Ironically, it was the worst she ever felt about being right.)  
  
Before joining Lucina's army, when she actually stayed in one place for longer than a week, the easiest way to deal with it was to change into her dragon form and sleep through it— in the form of a giant flying lizard, it made sense that she'd be more susceptible to cold, and the reptillian reactions to such. But understandably, that got impractical and posed some danger to her in it of itself, so she was forced to wait out the winter in a much smaller and squishier shape.  
  
That, she had learned the hard way, was absolutely _miserable_.  
  
If there was anything Nah hated more than peas and moldy dishes, it was being stuck under a mountain of quilts in the barracks, unable to do absolutely anything, while everyone else in the army (excluding those who were reptiles) did something useful with themselves. The most Nah had done was sleep, pick balls of lint off her blankets, and wallow in a lump of tired achiness that wouldn't go away until March. Much as she hated the idea of moving, she hated being _stuck_ there.  
  
Nah still wasn't sure which was worse: having to carry on as normal while evey bone in her body felt like it was wrapped in lead, or having someone (multiple someones) dote on her like an invalid. On the one hand, it was sort of nice not having to move, but on the other, she still wasn't used to the whole "letting someone else do the work for once" thing.  
  
She let out an annoyed grumble into the layers of quilts, nestling further into them until the edge rested over the bridge of her nose. After questioning why brumation season was so miserable for her but nobody else, Laurent had concluded that it was her warm-blooded and cold-blooded portions clashing, unable to coexist. Nah had concluded that it was bullshit.  
  
It really was bullshit. Nah shut her eyes (gods, even her _eyelids_ ached) in an attempt to close off the rest of the world, but that attempt was foiled when the door to her room squawked open and the most stubborn of her self-appointed caretakers walked in with a tray of food, entirely too cheery for how miserable Nah felt. If it wasn't her father, it'd be Marcus, and if it wasn't Marcus, all bets were off.  
  
"Morning, sleeping beauty," the visitor chirped, leaning down and pecking the bit of her forehead that wasn't covered— of course it was Marcus. She grimaced when he pushed the curtain aside from the little square window, letting in the winter sunlight. "How're you feeling?"  
  
Nah muttered something that started out as a snarky response but dissolved into grumbles, scrunching up her nose as Marcus pulled the covers back. She would've said something else, but the grumbles probably answered his question better than any words could've.  
  
"I'll take that as 'unchanged,'" he decided. She felt him sit down on the edge of her bed, the low frame letting out a creak in response. He always did, despite there being a stool literally three feet away. But she'd given up trying to understand his reasoning for that— there was a lot about Marcus that she just didn't understand.  
  
"Ugh," she groaned, scooting back and leaning against the pillows, and rubbing her eyes with her little fists. "Whose bright idea was it to make Manaketes a reptilian species, anyway? I think I'd like a word with them, and the word is my sword to their face."  
  
Marcus nodded thoughtfully. "A good word, a good word," he agreed. "But I prefer 'lunch,' personally. I mean, today's was no bear stew or anything, but uncle Frederick was on mess duty, so it's still pretty good."  
  
He handed her the bowl of soup, the wood pleasantly warm to her scaly fingertips. Grumpy as she was about being cooped up indoors, that was made worse with hunger, and she was rather fond of barley soup.  
  
Even if it hurt to move, the soup was nice, and Marcus stayed with her, straightening her covers and offering her a jar lid when she was done and feeling a bit better, though she was still annoyed at her general circumstances. It was nice, at least, to know that someone cared.  
  
"I hate brumation," she grumbled, sinking back into her nest. "For once, I'm envious of my mother. What did I do to deserve this?"  
  
Marcus combed a few loose strands of white hair out of her face, fingertips just brushing her cheek. "I'd offer up a sleep spell, but I'm not sure if you'd wake up in time for spring."  
  
"Funny, my father said the same thing," Nah said wryly. It was almost comedic— now that she was old enough to see her parents really interact, she could see where her tastes came from. (But then, it could've been a lot worse.)  
  
"Great minds think alike, they say," Marcus said proudly. It was no secret that Marcus and Nah's father were cut from the same cloth— though Nah wasn't sure what that said about her tastes. At least it made their relationship a bit less complicated. (The fact that Naga Herself approved also helped.)  
  
Nah bit into her jar lid like it was a cookie, moodily staring at her knees under the mass of blankets. She really wasn't in the mood for Marcus's cheeriness at that moment, and was more content to just stew in her own misery until she fell asleep out of sheer boredom. (But she really did appreciate it— having someone around who was _not_ embracing their inner sourpuss was refreshing, and she did like listening to him.)  
  
Marcus was idly combing his fingers through her hair. "You look so different with your hair down," he commented, not putting much thought behind his statement. "Older, almost. It's different, but I kind of like it."  
  
"It'd be a hindrance in battle, that's why I put it up," Nah said pragmatically, around her mouthful of chewed-up tin. "I know I tend not to do much fighting in this form, but when I do need to, having my hair out would be practically inviting an enemy to grab it."  
  
"Well, either way, I think it's lovely," he replied, and the tips of Nah's ears flushed. It almost infuriated her how easily he said things like that— so honestly, no room for flattery or sarcasm or little white lies. He ought to know you didn't just _say_ those things. There had to be a given mood, so she could set herself up for it and be able to deny it when it came. As it was, he always caught her off-guard, enough that her less-than-stellar self-esteem just didn't know what to do.  
  
"Damn it, Marcus," she mumbled, heat rising to her cheeks. "Stop saying things like that."  
  
"But it's true," he said matter-of-factly. "You're really pretty, Nah. I'll never understand why you don't seem to think so."  
  
Nah almost choked on her jar lid, burying her face in her hands. "Marcus, please," she whined, not caring how childish it was. "Stop being so… so…"  
  
"Honest?" Marcus guessed.   
  
"Nice to me!" Nah blurted. "Marcus, really, you'd think that the son of a tactician would know when to say things. You can't just— just _tell_ me I'm pretty. It's not right."  
  
"Well, in case you haven't noticed," Marcus retorted. "I'm literally a mortal host of Grima and about as nutty as a sack of pecans from it. Back in the day, the Grimleal called me the Prince of Darkness. I find the act of Risen disembowling each other hilarious. Do you really think I'm concerned with what's right or not?"  
  
"I think that maybe you should be," she snipped, folding her arms.  
  
 "Well, I'm not," he snipped right back, pecking the side of her head gently. There had been a time when that would've stung them both, but now— now it didn't. "Nah, you are seriously pretty. So there."  
  
Nah puffed out her cheeks. She wanted to argue about it, but found she didn't, not really. He was annoying and infuriating, but he was _Marcus_. Could she really be so heartless as to expect him to change?  
  
"You're too sweet," she grumbled, resting her head on his shoulder. "I can't believe I missed you."  
  
Marcus chuckled. "I missed you too, Nah."  
  
She let out a breath, leaning heavily on Marcus's shoulder. At some point, though she couldn't say when, he took her hand and laced his fingers with hers. Jar lids, though she didn't know why, always made her tired— but though it was tempting to go to sleep for awhile and forget about the fact that existing was generally an achy ball of grossness, she wanted to stay up and sit with him for just a little while longer.  
  
Though it was becoming increasingly difficult to do that. She yawned without realizing, and only realized when Marcus chuckled.  
  
"Sleepy?" he asked. "I should leave you alone, Lucina's probably got something she wants me to help with."  
  
"A little," she admitted. "Can you stay a little while longer?"  
  
She didn't offer an explanation as to why she wanted him to stay, but he didn't ask.  
  
Nah fell asleep once more with her cheek to well-worn silk and a hand gently playing with her hair.


End file.
